


Photo Negative

by westandvigilant



Series: O How the Mighty Fall in Love [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 08:48:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6650974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westandvigilant/pseuds/westandvigilant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>pictures are worth a thousand words. so why is éponine holding onto marius’ photo?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Photo Negative

**Author's Note:**

> elenlith answered your question:
> 
> Ep takes a picture of Marius and Enj thinks she keeps it cos of M,but she was actually mesmerized by the look in Enj’s eyes.Love at1st pic

Enjolras was never one for nicknames, but sometimes, just sometimes, when all the doors were closed and the sunlight was coming through the kitchen windows just right, he’d call her “shutterbug.”

One look around his apartment and it made sense. As Éponine slowly became a larger and larger part of his life, her photography quickly consumed all of his living space. Negatives and empty film canisters littered the side tables, broken camera parts were hid in the cabinets when she couldn’t be bothered to find somewhere else to put them. Photos of all types - mistakes and works of art - were left everywhere without any sort of reverence.

Which is why Enjolras found it a little odd and more than a little annoying when he noticed that she was using a photo of Pontmercy as a bookmark.

He didn’t mean to notice it the first time. He wished that he hadn’t, but she left it on the pillow beside her when she fell asleep reading. And he wasn’t going to insult her by asking about it. Enjolras had always been perfectly aware of her feelings for his friend and perhaps it was unrealistic to think that they would ever completely dissolve away.

So he tried to think nothing of it, and simply held her little tighter and kissed her a little longer that night.

—-

The next time he saw it, it was laid on top of her schoolwork. Among a haphazard stack of papers and writing utensils, the goddamn picture of Pontmercy was placed nicely on her favorite British Lit anthology.

He remembered the day it was taken quite well, it was from a lovely summer afternoon where they all went out and every one had a blast. Even himself. 

It was a nice photo of Pontmercy, he supposed. And maybe thats what angered him about it in the first place. Because there, on top of his girlfriend’s most-used textbook, was Pontmercy and his stupid freckles with his idiotic trendy sunglasses poised perfectly on his laughter crinkled nose, impossible lips spread in a captivating smile.

So, in a moment of uncharacteristic childishness, he hid the photo under a shuffle of papers and gave her the silent treatment by crawling into bed early that night.

—-

Then it just starts showing up everywhere. In her purse. Next to her pile of jewelry in the bedroom. Beside her precious thesis portfolio.

But when he goes to get a cup of yogurt only to be met with that photo of Pontmercy and his dumb fucking yellow shirt posted to the refrigerator, he snaps.

He stalks back into the living area where Éponine sits oh so innocently on the couch, attempting in vain to rid her fingers of ink stains suffered at the hands of a faulty printer. She is surprised, but only for a moment, as he bends down over the back of the couch and ravages her neck with his lips.

With a small moan she leans back into him, dragging her fingers up his bare arms and up to his jaw, leaving streaks of ink in his sweat.

She laughs in that perfectly irritating hint of tease that she always does.

“I thought you were busy tonight.”

“Shut up,” he whispers husky, burying his face into her hair and bringing his hand to her lips. When she opens her mouth a second time he fills it with his two middle fingers, curling his thumb around her cheekbone.

Then, without further pretense, he reaches down with his free hand and jerks her sickeningly charming sundress above her hips. She whimpers sharp around his fingers. He takes this as an invitation to dip his hands between her thighs and find her center, earning a satisfied exhale in response.

Enjolras continues rubbing hard circles into her clit with a focus and harshness he usually reserves for everything except for intimacy. And she is bucking wild against his fingers and moaning obscenities into his hand and he is blisteringly quiet.

It doesn’t take long for her to become lost in ecstasy and reach a shattering climax. He allows her to ride out the final waves before removing his hands to wrap her in a tight embrace.

After a few breathless minutes, Éponine chuckles and turns her head to the side to look at him, amber eyes half-lidded and sleepy.

“What’s with you tonight?” She asks as he buries his sweaty face deeper into hair and squeezes his eyes shut.

“What’s with that picture of Pontmercy on the refrigerator?”

Éponine jerks slightly at his words and he steels himself for the worst before she gives him another infuriatingly throaty laugh. 

“You are so dense,” she says, untangling herself from his hungry arms and pushing off the couch, tugging her dress back into place with an awkwardly jaunty gait. His eyes follow her to the kitchen where she stops at the offending kitchen appliance. “Well, come here.”

When he gets to the kitchen and stands beside her, she is holding the photo in her hands and has already left a giant smudge of ink from Pontmercy’s neck to his ear. But she is pointing to the right, at a figure just over his shoulder.

It doesn’t take long for Enjolras to realize that the figure is his own. He is looking at this photo and back into his own dark blue eyes, which apparently at the time, were fixated on the camera and glinting with quiet amusement. Not to mention the fabulously arched eyebrow and the barest hint of a smirk. Like he was sharing a joke with the camera. Or, more likely the girl behind the camera.

“See,” she chirped, folding the photo in half and reposting it to the refrigerator. “This is my favorite picture of you. I remember that night and going through the photos a few days later and… Well, it was the first time I thought that I might be able to fall in love with you.”

“You might be able to?” He quirked his eyebrow and hugged her hard, placing his ink smudged chin on top of her head as they both looked at the newly decoded picture.

“Yeah. Maybe.”


End file.
